Page 175 of A Dance of Water

"Don’t call me birdie," Graves intoned.

A singular feather drifted in a small puddle of melted snow on the cobblestones. His boots stomped over it as he walked forward, a hand poised on the wooden door.

The Knight pushed it open, finding the room dimly lit with scant candles. A bar lined one wall, and behind it, shelves of liquor bottles; the air held the cloyingly sweet scent of Rys.

Circular tables filled the space, chairs were pushed haphazardly, a few overturned.

Graves held up a hand, and Tharen came to his other side as they scoured the room for threats.

He gripped the handle of his dagger, feeling the tinge of magic behind him as Tharen readied himself.

There was no one here.

Graves lowered his hand. "Are we too late?"

"Godsdammit!" Tharen cursed.

Footsteps echoed in the quiet.

Graves tensed, feeling Tharen raise his hands at his side as magic sparked at his fingertips.

Graves held the dagger before him with calm, but the line of his shoulders and stance of his feet gave away his unease. Someone was here.

"Now." A feminine voice filled the room, but whoever it was did not emerge from the shadows. "No cursing in my establishment."

"Show yourself," Tharen demanded, as wind and shards of ice swirled between his palms. His eyes glowed a bright blue.

"What is your purpose for coming here?" said the voice.

Graves broke away from Tharen’s side, scouring the room. His boots crunched over littered peanut shells and broken glass.

"You answer first," Tharen spat.

"I don’t believe that’s fair. You followed me here from the markets… you showed up at my tavern. I’ll say, that has a female feeling a bit uncomfortable."

Graves scoffed. "You’re not as innocent as you proclaim. You know why we’ve come. Let’s skip this, Merath."

In the shadows, a soft fire glowed, bathing the owner in golden warmth. The female stepped away from her hiding spot, revealing long, black curls that brushed her waist, complemented by her deep skin tone. Her eyes were laced with a golden red.

The points of her ears stood out from her mass of curls, and the fire sparking at her fingertips spoke to her powers.

Ignis fae.

"Why are you here?" she said in a sultry tone. The hem of her dark skirts brushed along the floor as she stepped closer. She took Graves in, before her eyes fell upon Tharen, pausing at his arched ears, then cataloging his warrior stance, the shine of his light blue eyes, and the Aer and Aqua magic in his palms. "You’re the Prima."

Tharen grinned wolfishly. "Yes. You’re not afraid of me." Not a question. "And I know why." He took a large step forward. She didn’t move. "I wouldn’t imagine you fear me, knowing as your lover is my predecessor."

Merath’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." Then, she did something stupid, she turned her back on them in dismissal.

Graves lunged.

He closed the short distance in a breath, slipping past the scattered glass with practiced ease. His chest brushed against her back, and he wrapped his arm around her neck, holding the blade of his dagger to her skin. "Would you like to try this again?"

Merath did not struggle against him, but her eyes were filled with hate. "I don’t listen to males."

"What if I said this wasn’t for us?" said Tharen. "But for an innocent."

Tharen had informed Graves of Merath’s… strong-willed countenance. As the lover of a Prima, she must be. He knew that she would not give up information easily, but for the right reasons…

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